puer aeternus, the laws of an eternal boy
by Shiice
Summary: For all purposes, he's a child.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.**  
 **\- secondly, what the fuck did I just write? I'm sorry this happened.**

* * *

For all purposes, he's a child.

An extraordinarily gifted child, surrounded by the best minds of the current rising world - but still a child, nonetheless.

He's older than he appears, but when people look at him he's just a child.

 _That's his purpose._

When people look at the child, they don't see a brilliant mind. When they look at the ridiculous soft pyjamas that he's always wearing, they don't think for a second that the kid is many times more brilliant and intellectually gifted than they could ever imagine someone like him to be.

 _That's his purpose._

While being groomed by the orphanage he lives at to _hopefully_ surpass the world-renowned detective - the illusive mind known to those who cross him as _L_ \- he had been witness to those that have come before him. Those people with the same goal to be a successor to L.

Now, all of them dead. In the ground; cold, rotting, _dead._

Being so close to those events, it takes a strong mind to not follow suit with those examples - or to get so overwhelmed by the stress of the strings of suicides and external pressures to also want to just leave it all. Along with the rest, and following the others that came before him.

Suicide isn't an uncommon occurrence at Wammy's House, - much to the higher-ups displeasure.

Being in his position requires a optimistic outlook on _something_ \- or at least, an indifference to anything that isn't purely _you,_ \- anything that will, in the very least, be displeasing to _you._ It's something similar to disinterest, but closer to the ideas of ignorance and tales of avoidance because it _doesn't involve himself._

It's a childish notion, but that's what he's supposed to do. _That's his purpose,_ in these situations.

Here's a funny thing, he finds himself thinking, - he doesn't grow much. When he's able to think about ideas that don't entirely matter at all, he's able to daze off about these things.

Maybe his growth is just stunted. Maybe he hasn't met his growth spurt yet - which again, is a silly idea to have considering that he's almost legally an adult in the law's eyes - so he leaves that thought behind. A lack of growth hormone, perhaps. _What's the average measure of growth hormone in an average male for his height and weight at his age?_ Scratch that - he knows the answer.

Thinking about this, _isn't_ _his purpose._ He isn't raised for this.

"Raised" is a strange word. It implies that he's finished the stage of his life where he's supposed to mature. Mentally, yes - he's very mature. He always has been. Though, if the level of mental maturity is always a constant - it really shouldn't be considered as "maturity," rather than just a steady character trait of who he is as a person.

His body, no - not so much. It's more akin to someone prepubescent.

He isn't raised for this.

That's okay, though, he later thinks. He'd much rather use his mind to analyze the intricacies of patterns that all people in the "investigation" line of work should be familiar with, or at least have the mental capacity to get a firm grasp of. Patterns of murder, patterns of violence - or things in between. _Who are they most committed by, and from where? What's the general mindset of these people - how can all of these be linked? How are those two people linked? Did they know any of the same people, or go to any similar places?_ The study of investigation is the study of patterns.

Children are good at picking out patterns.

And for that, for all purposes, he's a child.

* * *

 _One day, the faceless teachers at the orphanage separate together groups of 3-4 students, and places them in separate rooms from other groups - urging them to work together into solving a cold case that the higher-ups feel is necessary to proctor to the orphans._

 _All of this, probably because of the new threat - Kira, that started appearing on the news, because he noticed that tensions were increasing with the staff that ran this place. Because as unlikely as it sounded, perhaps L was already getting overwhelmed. Perhaps they were already preparing for his death, and needed to see how capable their backups were._

 _Anything else was improbable. The orphanage doesn't change it's curriculum on the whim. It broke pattern. Something was new._

 _Kira was new. On the news, Kira was being said to have killed hundreds, if not thousands of people already. L would know about this. L hasn't stopped this person - or group of people - no, cut that. With death numbers this high, this count would be easier to come by with probabilities closely calculated by the culprit, - so having multiple executioners wouldn't work because of how recent all of the attacks are- how coordinated and fool-proof the attacks seemed to be._ He remembered a news broadcast in which people were explaining in shock and in awe about how Kira had been able to kill criminals all different places around the world every hour _on the hour. There's no way that coordination like that can happen with more than one culprit. Human error wouldn't allow it._

 _As of now, L hasn't stopped this person yet, so that could only mean that he wasn't able to._

 _So, the higher-ups_ _ **are**_ _preparing for his death._

"Come with me," said one of the test-exercise proctors to his group.

 **Group 1: Near, Mello, Matt.**

It wasn't difficult to know that they'd be working together, they always worked together. _Top 3._ He just didn't understand why it had to be a group effort, however. If they were truly serious about trying to find the next _L_ \- the best thing would be to test people _individually_. Unless they were looking for how people worked with minds similar to them. In which case, this would suffice.

Though, without question, he followed her. Even though her hair was too styled and her high-heels were too loud when she walked. Click, clack, click. He wondered how she could stand the constant clacking of her feet all day, - or maybe, her mind was so accustomed to the sounds that she blocked out all of those sounds all-together. It was clear Mello wasn't, though, since the entire walk to the secluded room was filled of his complaining to his friend.

Mostly complaining about him (should he add), but finding snide remarks to anything he found distasteful at the moment. Including the lady.

"I can't believe I have to work with that fuckin' robot _again._ " He'd say to Matt, while later making off-handed remarks about how the lady's shoes were _tacky_ and how her sad eye makeup makes her look like she has no self-esteem. Matt, in turn, would try to lighten the mood by laughing quietly and agreeing with Mello no matter what he said. Because he knew Mello's personality, he knew what Mello would respond to best. Or which would help to bring down some of his ever-lasting tension.

Near knew, too.

Because this was all a pattern. These actions weren't all too hard to predict.

Perhaps that's what it took to be a robot. The ability to recognize patterns and know exactly how to respond to them based on other patterns.

Patterns of friendship, patterns of people, patterns of the world.

Being able to understand patterns to that great of a level brings with it a greater corresponding ability of being able to understand a constant obscurity of chaos. Because the thing is, there is no actual chaos - everything corresponds with something else, everything has a calculable and straight-forward reason for being. _Even if it isn't understood at first, things have a reason._ Until they don't. Until nothing has reason and he doesn't know why he's still around.

For an _extreme_ example, wars happen for specific reasons, (whether they be for some sense of moral superiority or for justifying their local power, whichever senseless reasons that has nations believe that _killing_ is a way to _peace_ ) - and follow suit almost frame-by-frame the history of previous wars. Even if they have different reasons, they all have relatively the same pattern. Same goes for crime statistics, political gambles, space theories, train schedules - they all operate and rely on the same patterns.

That's probably why the world's so boring.

...Wait, children don't usually find the world to be boring, do they?

For all purposes, he's a child.

* * *

All three of them are taken into a soundproof room (which is a bit unorthodox, not to mention a bit unnecessary) with the number 256 - where they're all given the same case file. The official police report findings, the FBI's final conclusions, as well as a _generous_ amount of crime-scene photographs. The red gore of the pictures clash with the bright, bright white walls and the empty light that reflects off of them. It almost makes this room look like a crime scene as well, in a way. The only things that actually look out of place in this room are the few black cameras hung up on the ceiling.

Moments later, they're sat at a table, together. Implying that they have to work together to figure this out themselves.

The doors close.

"Oh, _fuck no -_ " he hears Mello say. "With him? _Jesus fucking Christ -_ "

He doesn't know why Mello complains so much. It wasn't as if he didn't know that he'd be working alongside Near since that's what he's been complaining about while they were all being escorted to this room. It's almost comical.

Matt is the one to respond to him, since Near has no intention to - he has no _reason_ to. "Relax, Mells. I'm sure we're gonna figure this all out in _mere minutes_ and get out of here, 'kay? Just let that knowledge be your motivation to figure out this quickly."

"What's the point!" Mello snaps back, now standing up from his chair. "There is none! We all know that it's going to be this fucking _brat_ to figure out this whole thing, _alright?_ He was probably already given the answer, just to spite the rest of us-"

"It's a cold case." Near says finally. "I haven't been given any more information of it than you have."

"You... _fucking bitch_."

The words are cutting, and he ignores them. Instead, he finds interest in looking at the crime-scene photos first off. He'd look at the reports later, because they're not as reliable as the visual evidence. Human error often finds its way into anything humans apply themselves to - the reports are already faulty to a degree. Of course, this also means that to some degree, the photographs are subjected to a certain level of human error as well - but the percentage is less than of the reports; they're more _raw_ and _to the point._

Fortunately for him, Mello doesn't seem like letting him be left alone so easily while he's looking through the pictures.

"Right, _of course_ he goes looking for the gruesome bodies. I swear, he's a fucking nutcase." Mello whisper to Matt, albeit deliberately loud enough for Near to listen to every word that he says, apparently trying to get under his skin. "And how he's all so unmoved by anything that those pictures show. Is he even real?"

Mello's not _completely_ wrong in that. The pictures are more gruesome than the others he'd seen. Multiple murders throughout a specific area residing in Los Angeles, California, - _He'd need to get a map of the area later, he thinks_ \- the pictures are messy. The faces of the victims look less like faces, and more like flesh-colored balls leaking strings of muscles and tendons, with the landscape background of sticky blood all on the ground under them. The stomaches of the victims are cut open, spraying its' ugly multicolored dark viscera _anywhere._ Humans are remarkably brown on the inside, once you get pass all of the yellows, pinks and reds.

Because he gets the urge, he takes a skilled finger, practically on autopilot _-because it is on autopilot-_ and runs it through the wavy mess of his nearly-white hair. Half of the time, he doesn't even realize that he's doing that habit of his. A good bet, however, would be to say that he does it when he's in deep thought; or when he's undoing the cobwebs that take up space in his brain. It helps his focus - _clears his mind._

At a glance, it's not apparent that all of these victims are the kill of the same culprit. In the beginning, dead people look just like that; dead people. People that were undoubtedly killed in a similar fashion - but still, not apparent enough to be considered to be the work of the same killer.

A look at the skin- _or what's visible of the skin,_ reveals bruising. Not too surprising, but _could mean_ that they were beat before they were killed. A closer look at where the skin was cut on the victims makes it apparent that they were all cut like this before the time of death - or in other words, that the cuts were the cause of death. The sense of needless gore implies that they had a personal tie with the killer. That, or the killer was unnecessarily cruel to match their unnecessarily unstable mental state.

"...Is he serious? He's figuring this out _now?_ "

"You better get going, Mells. Near's gonna one-up you again."

"You know what? Fuck _off._ I thought we were supposed to be working on this together."

Contrary to what others might think, Near has no problem working together with other people. As long as they're quick enough to keep up with his train of thought. Because in the most respectable way possible, people usually aren't.

He looks up from the pictures.

"I could work with Mello." And because he can't help himself, "If he could stop complaining, that is. It can be quite distracting." he finishes with a barely-noticable smirk.

The blonde huffs in annoyance, but doesn't reply back with a retort - that's _new._ Near tilts his head because that was a slight break of pattern and he wasn't expecting something like that. "You know what? Fine. Just anything to get out of here faster."

And suddenly Mello's working alongside him. Matt doesn't even bother to join in with the investigation because he doesn't care that much. If he could bring his gameboy into the room, he'd be playing that. Since it isn't here, he's trying to just make any fun where he can find it; and that involves, not looking at a crime scene.

"So," Mello interrupts. "What do'ya got so far? Or are you not as smart as you think you are?"

Ah, _there's_ the insult. Near relaxes.

He breathes in before repeating everything that he currently knows about the case, and then Mello is on board with his train of thought. "If it is just his mental state, shouldn't we check in on the closest mental hospitals to the crime or whatnot? You know, try to close up any loose ends?"

"No," he says. "Going in that direction is likely what the authorities have already done - however you're free to check the reports if you think I'm wrong about that. But it's almost not worth going into a direction because if somebody had this set of mind and wasn't outwardly noticed by anybody by appearing off or strange, than it only means that this person doesn't _normally_ have a lot of contact from others. Which can almost directly eliminate the idea that the culprit knew the victims from the start."

"...Are you absolutely sure you don't get off to this sort of thing?"

"It's quite possible that the culprit has a godly sense of entitlement. And yes, I'm quite sure."

It would help to explain the exact fashion in which the victims were killed in. _A strike to the head, with a carving out of the abdominal cavity._ Taking so many factors in or out of the equation - the scene almost looks similar to one of the many recorded Christianity-based ritualistic killings. Or rather, as to what is described of one of Jesus Christ's original Apostles - Judas Iscariot.

The theme is that he's generally noted as a traitor, or a person of treason in the original faith; in shorter words, someone that has done wrong by those who are deemed to be in the _right._ If that is the case, than the amount of moral superiority needed to complete with the act needed to be immense. Whether by a perceived notion of needing to fix any direct wrongdoing, or the idea that they need to be a type of "purifier" for all of the world's sinners, as decided by them.

" _Godly sense of entitlement?_ What in the _fuck_ does that mean?"

 **No witnesses. Unclear Motive. Unusual Modus operandi. No relationship between victims.**

The pattern fits the parameters. Fills in the gaps.

After that, the test ends. The doors open and all three of them are escorted out of the room.

He doesn't know why. It's not like he even _solved_ the case, or was even _close_ to solving the case. All he did was come up with a possible idea on a possible motive and mindset for the killer to have.

...Not that he's against doing generally vague profiling work, it's just _unnatural._

He needs to get back into pattern.

* * *

The morning activity was strange, and none of the other orphans have a clue of what the entire exercise was about. But the rest of the day is somewhat normal. Near still goes to his regular classes, even _though some kids are missing -_ _ **because they're still stuck on the same exercise.**_ Though other than that, the day falls into its normal steady rhythm.

Which means, when classes end, the orphans can spend free-time in the commons.

Near only stays in the commons because he can play with his puzzles while he's there. He's not allowed to bring games into his bedroom. A silly rule. They probably just don't want any mess in the kids' rooms.

He's fine with that, he can work around that. He always does. He _could_ deal without the looks he continuously seems to get. Thank God there's not that many kids left here, so at least he can deal with that.

Seconds later, a part of him wants to tug at the wisps of his hair again, so he does. He tugs harder than usual this time around.

His brain feels strange, right now. Not his head, but his _brain._

That feeling is always at least somewhat there nowadays, but now it's stronger.

 _Some of the kids are missing today, it's possible they're dead._

As he gets out his white blocked puzzle, he can see Mello and Matt by the television in front of the lumpy couches. Matt's playing one of his video games while Mello watches from behind, making snide remarks about his game-play ability. It's _funny,_ even though there are perhaps five other people in the room currently, the loudest sound is the noise of Mello's laughter. Near looks down, and tries to ignore it. He's _loud._

He dumps all of the small, white pieces to the floor. Hearing the crash of all of the small plastic shapes.

 _That_ was loud.

All that earns him is a dirty look from Mello for a few seconds, _-the last direct dirty look he'll get for a very long time-_ but then the blonde goes back to playing around with his friend.

And then, he does what he always finds himself doing. He puts all of the pieces back together again. It doesn't take too long now since he follows the same system every time that he takes out this puzzle; which is, every day. _First is the corner pieces -every person has the capacity to figure that out- than he starts working on the bottom right half of the puzzle. Those pieces tend to be bigger than the rest, so they're the easiest to find when the ground is covered with scattered white shapes._

Because children play puzzles, or just generally play around, that's what they do.

 _From then, work up._ It then starts to become less about intelligence and more about common sense. Before he notices it, the puzzle is all finished _-as it should be-_ and only about 10 minutes has passed since when he's first started.

He could take the puzzle apart again today, and try building up again from there; perhaps see if he can do it in a quicker amount of time, but he refrains. Somehow that's less interesting than doing nothing.

Could be - because in his mind, _it is nothing._

* * *

Still on the floor, he scoots towards the white wall a few feet behind him. _-Strange, they must have painted the walls, those are never white-_ and just, does that. Sits and observes, what he can. He twirls a strand of soft hair in between his fingers, guiding it in circles.

He's pretty sure that another kid killed themselves today, he suddenly remembers. What was their name? Despite his record-worthy marks on his academics, and his extraordinary ability when making investigative deductions, his memory isn't as good as people think that it would be. It can be quite a nuisance at times. Things that don't automatically have to do with mathematical probabilities and scientific and logistical reasoning are always put on the back burner, eventually always set to be forgotten. So, it's not much of a surprise when he can't remember little details like people that are _all_ destined to die.

But, who was it? He wouldn't be too surprised if the answer was himself. He already feels dead at times. Today, more than most days.

Huh.

He unconsciously listens to the television on the other side of the room, hearing the familiar sounds of Matt playing his cartoon car-racing game, giving his signature 'woops' as he passes the other players. He's loud, but he's quieter than normal. It feels subdued.

His voice is still trumped by the familiar, calming sound of Mello's kind laughter.

Even though Mello can be brash and harsh to Near from time to time, he's one of the most passionate people that Near knows. On some level, hearing that passion and that carefree happiness is something that can help Near get grounded again when he feels as if his mind has gone too far. It's something calming to be able to rely on when he needs to; that's one pattern that he doesn't mind, or is bored to all-ends with.

 _...Oh, that's right - their name was Linda._ That's who died today, right? Or is he just imagining that? He can't be sure.

Apparently this orphanage causes a bunch of stress for the kids attending it. If people can't handle the stress, they sometimes cope by killing themselves; that's been easily demonstrated by the first generation of the alphabet to attend.

Follows suit with the pattern.

His thoughts are broken when he hears the steady 'tap, tap' tell-tale sounds of somebody walking up to him, and without even looking up, he knows who the sounds belong to. Even if he wasn't accustomed to the resonant sound of Mello - he'd still know that it could only be him. It could only _ever_ be him when it came to Near.

"Mello, welcome." He says, politely.

The other just looks- _dare he say,_ almost taken aback. Near doesn't know what he did to warrant this.

"What's with you today?" The other replies. "You seem really _off._ Frankly, it's starting to creep me out."

Near cocked his head to the side, "I don't know what you mean. Everything I do creeps Mello out to a certain degree, so there's no reason that today should be any different."

Then, Mello's shoulders release their tension. "So," he begins. "Are you acting like this because of them dying? Lord, I wouldn't have pegged someone as unfeeling as you to get so strange about it." He pauses. "I guess it's different, though, because it _is_ L this time around."

Oh - _that's right._ Not _Linda,_ but _L._ Both names that start with "L" though, heh.

 _God -the walls are very white. It almost hurts to keep his eyes open. Almost. The constant of the stream of it makes his head hurt. He tugs harder at his hair - maybe he'll rip out some of his hair. Maybe he'll find a way to scratch through the skull and claw through chunks of his brain matter. It's off pattern. He doesn't know what today is - besides the fact that today is the day that L was announced to be dead and Mello promptly left the institution as soon as the declaration had been made. The last time before then that he worked together with Mello was around a week ago, when they did that pointless cold-case exercise together. Now, he's just talking to a puppet of Mello - probably to keep the illusion alive so he can handle with the change._

Children tend to block out or erase the parts of their memory that they can't mentally handle.

...Which is to say with finality, for all purposes, he's a child.

Even though his mind is broken because of it.

 _Right. Back to work, perhaps._ He thinks to himself, putting down the fake puppet replica of one of the only people to ever offer his mind stability, and moves back to his puzzle once again. To solve it, and to tear it back down again. With the job of having to deduce who the God-driven killer is, even though reality doesn't exist for him anymore.

Mello is no longer here to provide his presence, all of Near's patterns are subsequently shattered.

L is dead, with him as the replacement. His world is broken, and he can't deal with it.

He's sure that he'd dug through the outer coating of his skull. He wouldn't even be surprised if he scooped up pieces of wet brain matter.

But he soon stops, because he _isn't raised to do this._

No, he's raised to - as it turns out, kill the person who murdered his predecessor. By playing a childish game of cat-and-mouse to see who can kill who the quickest, and with the least amount of mess and atrocities involved. By playing a game. A numbers game, a strategy game - or, it could even be simplified to a simple game of _tag_ or _hide and go seek._

To _capture_ and _condemn_ and _kill_ the God imitation, by operating on the rules of children.

For all purposes, he is a child.


End file.
